


i ache to the bone (it's like nothing i've known)

by peculiar_mademoiselle



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, some suicidal ideation could be inferred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiar_mademoiselle/pseuds/peculiar_mademoiselle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>grantaire is throwing his things into a long disused suitcase, he looks up when enjolras enters and his eyes are bright. But – but not manically so. In fact he looks more lucid than he has in months. </p><p>“i’m leaving,”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i ache to the bone (it's like nothing i've known)

Enjolras wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he arrived home,

But there is a blood red Aston Martin in their drive, the sleek bonnet is covered in sparkly ribbons, and the dark leather seats are dotted in rainbow glitter. It’s ironic that such a sweet sight should make his heart sink as it does. And when his boyfriend of nineteen years runs from the house, blue eyes unusually wide, babbling about gifts and half-anniversaries and the skiing trip he’d also booked – “I know we don’t know how to ski, but how hard can it be?”, he has no option but to smile and nod, wincing only when he checks their account balance on his phone while Grantaire stirs a bowl of cake mix.

He stirs, and stirs, and stirs, and the chocolate splashes up the wall and on the ceiling, it takes him a few seconds to realise and his belated reaction breaks Enjolras’ heart all over again. His euphoria turns to hysteria, and suddenly the bowl is a few fragments of china on the dark wood floors, the rest of their dessert leaking through the pieces.

The act of grabbing his lover’s wrists is strangely reminiscent of buttoning his shirt to Enjolras, a routine, well-practiced action, that the blonde man is certain he could carry out with his eyes shut. His beautifully feminine face is sculpted into a perfectly serene expression as he tries to catch Grantaire’s wheeling eyes. Looking at him he imagines he can see the thoughts racing beneath the mop of dark curls, he imagines everyone else’s brain, his own brain, must be like a grey set of country roads, while R’s is like the streets of Tokyo; he can almost see the flashing of neon lights behind his heavily lidded azure eyes.

There was a time when Enjolras would see the usually depressed and cynical Grantaire in this manic state and see him _flying_. He’d think that he could hold him by his ankle and allow him to fly just high enough for them both to be happy. But that was a long time ago.

That night when R collapses in bed, Enjolras lays awake in the living room, the lights all on. It’s odd that it feels like he’s waiting for his boyfriend to come home, and comfort _him_. He can’t even remember the last time that happened.

Grantaire’s mania fades over the next few days, and he distances himself from Enjolras, shutting himself in their room, his lover hears art supplies being pulled out, but knows that he won’t be using them, rather nowadays he stares at them, or on bad days methodically snaps them between his calloused hands.

It all feels like work. When did it become work?

Normalcy returns to their home in time, and he falls back into their routine. Water the pot plants. Cook breakfast. Kiss Grantaire chastely on the cheek. Go to work. Come home. Cook enough dinner to make up for your boyfriends lack of lunch. Work on the computer all night. Bed. Stare at the walls. Get up. Water the plants. Cook breakfast.

He loves him though, he can never ever doubt that. So what if the fire that once consumed his heart had become more of a slow burn? It was still there.

God, Enjolras feels so old.

It’s weeks later when he arrives home to another unexpected scene, this one infinitely more painful.

Grantaire is throwing his things into a long disused suitcase, he looks up when Enjolras enters and his eyes are bright. But – but not manically so. In fact he looks more lucid than he has in months.

“I’m leaving,”

His own throat feels like sandpaper, “Why?”

Turning back to his suitcase, the dark haired man exhales shakily, and speaks to the opposite wall.

“Do you remember our first date? I was drunk, and you turned up, looking pristine as ever, eyes shining, your golden hair curled around your chin. You..you don’t look like that anymore.”

Anger fills Enjolras’ chest. “That’s why you’re leaving? Because I’ve started to go fucking grey?”

“Let me finish, please. The whole night was a downpour, remember?”

“Of course I do,” the blonde hears his teeth click as he grits them.

“I didn’t feel the rain with you. And – and at the time that was amazing. It was. It has been.” Grantaire’s back shakes after this, and he falls silent.

“But?”

“But I miss the rain.”

He clenches his fists and inhales almost painfully through his nose, he doesn’t understand - can’t - won’t understand.

“What did you think was going to happen, Enjolras? You were going to fix me? You would smother me in love, and my...illness would vanish? We’d have a white picket fence and a cat and a baby? You’d change me and then the world?”

Enjolras shuts his eyes and tries to force his voice to be level.

“I love you.”

“You did once.”

That’s it, he crosses the room in three strides, and spins Grantaire around by one arm, they’re practically nose to nose when his strangled reply breaks free from him, “How dare you insinuate I don’t. I’ve done everything for you. Everything in my fucking power. How dare you?”

The shorter man blinks, and his reply is oddly hollow sounding, “You haven’t spoken to me like that in years.”

“I...”

“You wrapped me in cotton wool. You always save me. You catch me...”

“I love you.” He’s pleading now, voice cracking, as he feels a singular tear roll down his marble cheek.

“I need my life back. _You_ need your life back.”

He slides to his knees, his suit trousers getting scuffed on the floor, and sniffs and splutters. He looks up all red eyes and is oddly satisfied to see that Grantaire is also teary.

“ _You_ are my life,”

Grantaire laughs, it’s a brittle sound, like glass, and pitched differently it would sound like sobbing, but no, his eyes sparkle with mirth, “I’m not. Oh, you beautiful man. You have so much, and it’s waiting for you. You can help others, you can save them.”

“But I can’t save you?”

“No.”

They stand like that for a while, both crying silently, when Grantaire speaks again.

“I’m so tired.”

He pulls away and zips up the green case, the noise of the zipper is oddly final, and the shock of it forces Enjolras to his feet again.

“I loved you. I love you. So much.” Grantaire’s voice is warm, but his tears have made it thick, and Enjolras only sobs harshly in response, and wipes at his eyes desperately.

And by the time he’s reopened them, he’s alone.

 

_“You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that—everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.”  
_

_\- Virginia Woolf’s last note to her husband._

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from 'a light in the dark' from next to normal. 
> 
> thanks for reading.
> 
> (ADDED: this is very cheeky of me but i'm in a lot of financial trouble at the moment. I could potentially end up homeless - please help me if you can, anything would be appreciated. here's the link www.gofundme.com/2g6ge8xw ) Thank-you in advance!


End file.
